


Laying On The Moon

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: Brothers Grim [21]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Affection Erections, Aggressive Eye Contact, Bad Ass Daddy Klaus, Canadian Maple Syrup Levels Of Sap, M/M, do it for daddy, hand holding, violence typical of the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: He feels empty of anything except the slow way all the angry red in Diego bleeds soft and pink. Klaus is stained with the color; he’s blue and periwinkle and lilac and pink. He’s gone pastel for the feeling his brother put in him, and he’d be more upset about it but the black and white hew knew best had grown more grey in recent years and Klaus is an addict - for pastels and pink.





	Laying On The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags. 
> 
> it's fucking feelings bro
> 
> Title is from  
The Moon Song by Scarlett Johanson

The thing is...

Their daddy issues are perhaps the most normal thing about them. Everyone's fucking got ‘em. A raging case of _ Daddy Didn’t Love _ me is so common these days, they’re nearly out of fashion. 

Yeah, maybe they’ve got issues. 

Gogos never gonna call him daddy

Diego’s never gonna say the words. 

The appeal isn’t in the surrender with him. 

It’s something different. Or different than before. 

Diego’s in love with how much he hates it

He’s pristine filth, Madonna and a whore

It’s not about their father, not really.

It’s not worse, really. Just _ more _. 

  


_ Because his daddy is my daddy, _ Klaus thinks, in a delirious sort of way. Even his thoughts are sharp and shrill. There’s nothing to do for it, but to lean down and get his mouth on Diego, suck a mean little hickey where anybody can see. Klaus is fucking fraught with the sudden and specific desire to bite him. Bite him so hard he feels the skin-pop and gives and the copper coffin taste of blood in his mouth. 

But no. 

Gogo needs _ soft _. 

So he bites very gently, oh so fucking gently, and the strain in his jaw where it begs to fucking sink is _ divinity _. 

He drags his mouth over the scar above Diego’s ear and says as softly, as sweetly as his shattered tongue will let him._ “Do it for daddy.” _

_ I know who you are, _ Klaus thinks, as Diego opens up his eyes. _ I know what happened to you. _

Diego’s body gives with the force of a dam breaking, every taught coiled muscle going lax and fluid. All the air seems to leave him at once, so Klaus kisses his mouth, and licks away the last remnant of restraint left in him. 

_ Because your daddy is my daddy, _ he thinks - raving in his own mind. But he does feel hysterical, in that single moment. He _ does _feel wild. 

What was it Diego called him?

_ Feral _?

Well, ferals catching. 

He grabs Diego’s wrist in one hand, but Diego’s too stunned and wide-eyed to protest. But he wouldn’t, no he wouldn’t because Klaus has two very good boys, when once upon a time he was rotten. Christ - he’d been rotten. Withered. Rotten. Stoned. 

_ Soft _. 

He lets his hand slip from Diego’s wrist to his palm. Their fingers tangle, a tiny web, and Klaus want to trap himself right here, in this moment of clarity. 

God - Diego is pretty. He’s a beautiful boy. 

That - that’s what this is about. 

About all the spots the world hasn’t bruised. All the spots Diego kept himself clean. He’s not so different than Luther, not as much as he’d like and perhaps that’s why they fight. He’s not so jaded. Not so bitter. He’s got his good boy pride, and his good boy anger and his good boy spite. He has his righteous soapbox in the form of a CB radio and vigilante nostalgia. Diego’s good. 

But he is scared. 

Terrified. 

Horrified. 

Ashamed. 

Broken. 

He’s that little boy stuttering through _ good morning father. _He’s that little boy frowning at the marks where they’re scored into the door frame that tells him in inches grown who Number One is. He’s a boy scout. He’s a baby. 

It’s all in there, it’s all in there tangled up on scars and silence. Diego’s never gonna call him daddy - but he’s gonna let Klaus put his hands all over that soft, white underbelly weakness. Just to see Klaus smile at him. To fucking _ look _ at him when he speaks. To see him - at _ all _. 

He leans back, and can’t help the gut-clenching shudder that escapes him when Diego doesn’t immediately let go of his hand. They stay tangled, hand against hand like pressing into your own foggy reflection and Klus thinks - that must be what it is. _ I know who you are _ , he thinks again, looking down at wide, black-brown eyes. _ I know what happened. _

And he wonders as he shakes if Diego can see it from his side of the glass too. 

He lets their hands fall to rest, and perches very lightly, in Diego’s lap. The silence is fraught with a new sort of tension. Sexual - yes - but the frantic energy that promised to swallow them whole seems to have simmered, something stickier now, something _ thick _. Klaus grinds back, slow and deep like they never let themselves have. He’s never cared for the luxury of slow. He’s treated his life like the shortest race to the finish line. 

He undresses Diego with insistent hands, made all the more pleasingly difficult with Diego’s insistence on kissing him through the whole thing. Before the boys, Klaus never really has anyone who treated kissing as something other than perfunctory. The superficial kissing that filled his life prior to Ben and Diego had always seemed enough, but Klaus isn’t sure he could slum it like that again, the indifference would leave him wanting. Diego kisses exactly like a man who doesn’t need to breath, and Klaus savors the way his lungs burn, the way he always has to pull back first, _ surrender _. 

He’s thrown Diego’s shirt somewhere to the left, and he’s pushing his jeans down his thighs, rising up so Diego can push them under where Klaus is happily seated. It’s awkward, bumpy, _ goofy _ . Familiar. He makes a show of settling back down into Diego’s lap, while he finds his words. “Tell me what you thought of when I said you could have anything,” he asks, speaking low and slow like the roll of his hips. He moves Diego’s other hand to his thigh and squeezes it down. “C’ mon. I’ve seen pussy with less pink in it, than your fucking cheeks right now, Gogo. It’s something filthy? Is it water sports? Is it _ sounding _? I bet it’s -” 

“I want you to fuck me.”

And there is no hesitance, there is no fine line or thread of discontent. Plainly put, as only Diego can. Besides, you can’t argue with your own reflection. 

Klaus can’t quite bite back the shudder that shakes him top to bottom. He suspected that might be it, he suspected that might be the filthy little thing Diego cooked up. He suspected, speculated, maybe even tried to nail the right information out of Ben’s little ass. He _ suspected _. 

An unrealistic goal. You take your time with virgins. You build ‘em up, you get them fucking gagging for it, there is no room for question, there is no room for even the slightest bit of un-surety. 

(Klaus had been a virgin once. No one took their time with him.) 

So, fucking him tonight is probably unrealistic. Klaus doubts Diego’s put much of anything but a few curious fingers up his ass. Maybe one of Ben’s smaller, friskier tentacles but _ that _just might be wishful thinking on Klaus part. 

***

Diego buys good lube. That’s Klaus first thought. His second thought?  


“It’s not my birthday.” 

Diego snorts into the pillow, and Klaus knows that he’s blushing. The back of his neck has gone a dusky sort of rose color, and his shoulders are high and tight. _ “Shut up.” _

“It’s not _ your _ birthday,” Klaus continues, needlessly, as he pushes a _ third _finger into Diego. 

“Klaus.” Diego’s spine is a soft ocean wave, and he’s still damp from his shower, the faint cloying smell of cheap soap and city water. With his free hand, Klaus digs his thumb into the dimple at the bottom of Diego’s back and lets his fingers curl over his hip. “_ Please _.” 

Klaus is straddling Diego’s left thigh, and it’s hard not to let himself push down, and grind. He is very much a creature of self-indulgence, after all, and the physical drag of Diego’s hard, hairy thigh against Klaus cock is the definition of decadence but----

But

_ But _

Diego’s the _ softest _ thing Klaus has ever got inside of and it’s hard not to find the sudden and sinking give of his ass the most indulgent thing in the world. “Did you know I wanted to fuck you, Diego?” Ben would have told him - the fucking _ slut _. The good boy. “Did you know how badly?” 

“I----” Diego _ chokes _ , as Klaus fucks all three fingers into him in one, rough swoop, bottoming at the knuckles hard enough to shock a grunt from his lungs. “ _ Yes _.” 

Klaus sighs. It’s a helpless sort of noise, completely contradictory to the jarring, forceful insistence of his fingers, where he’s fucking Diego steadily now, smooth, and rough, and _ hard _. His sigh is soft and helpless, yeah, love-struck one might say. “I’d have waited forever for you.” 

“I’d prefer you didn’t.” His voice is gruff, but the broken, fractured breaths give Diego away. Klaus could finger him all _ night _, it’s fucking beautiful he’s fucking beautiful. “Klaus---” 

“You know I wanted to fuck you,” Klaus cuts him off, reiterating his previous statement in a light, but quiet tone. “I’ve hardly been fucking shy about it buddy. But I’m a patient guy.” Diego makes a noise, as Klaus pulls his hips up to meet his fingers. “But you’re not, are you? You wanted it. You got yourself ready. I thought I was gonna have to wait, Diego. I was just gonna finger you a little, maybe eat your ass until you cry, ride your dick until _ I _ cried. All that soft vanilla shit you like. I didn’t come here to fuck you, but _ God _ , I didn’t think you’d be so fucking easy.” And easy is the word for it. Klaus slips right in like nothing at all, one finger, then two, and the give he still has tells him Diego’s had _ help _ . “You _ did it for Daddy, _ and you didn’t even _ know _it yet. God Gogo, you were really fucking gagging for it. ” 

He lets Diego’s hips settle against the bed, though they’re hardly restless. Klaus isn’t going to tell him to stop. If he wants to come all over himself and the bed, well - Klaus wouldn't hate it. Diego’s good for two or three rounds on a slow night. And Klaus is up for it. He’s so fucking good for it. He suspects Diego would even enjoy it, the filthy fuck. “Yeah, you keep grinding like that....you come, I’ll put you face-first into the mess and watch you lick it up.” They both sound good, and he suspects Diego might agree. “Whether that's a warning to stop, or incentive to keep going is entirely up to you.” He curls his fingers just a little, and feels Diego clench and shudder. God - he’s probably _ dripping _ . He’s probably sticky right through his shorts. Another helpless little sigh escapes him; there’s no way Klaus could be so lucky. “You’re fucking sloppy Gogo. You’re fucking _ loose _.” 

He’s not. God---he’s not. He goes terribly, wickedly, _ searingly _ tight around Klaus's fingers, offended and hot. “B---B---Ben,” Diego chokes, pushing back against Klaus. “ _ Ben _.” 

“Oh Benny,” Klaus fucking breathes because Diego can’t finish that thought, but Klaus already knows. Beautiful Ben, sweet Ben who knew Klaus better than anyone. What a fucking gift. “I couldn’t find either of you all morning. Did Benny get you ready for me, Gogo? He told me to come tonight, you know. He told me about your match.” 

“_ Nnnnhg _!” 

Klaus leans down, so he can plaster himself against Diego’s smooth back and mouth across his damp hair. “Benny set you up to get _ fucked _, Gogo.” That would be just like Ben. That would be just like---

“I asked him too.” Diego’s pushing up on his hands, upon his knees and riding back against Klaus' hand, with a shameless curl to his beautiful spine. “I fuckin---I asked him too. _ Shit _.” 

“Yeah?” And what Klaus would have given to be a fly on _ that _wall, but he was always better suited to play the spider. “And why would you go and do a thing like that, Diego?” 

“I wanted--I w-w-wanted---” 

“God - yeah. _ Fuck _. Tell me what you want, Gogo. C’mon.” Klaus feels a little - he feels a little stupid with it, with the curl of his own fingers, the smell of Diego’s clean, warm skin, the terrible fucking itch to sink his teeth into the swell of his own brother's ass----

“I w--I want---wanted you to fuck me,” Diego stammers out, riding the mattress beneath him, chasing the pressure of Klaus clever fingers, in turn. “_ I want you to fu--fuck---fuck me up. _” 

And shit - Ben had worked Diego over so well, the three fingers Klaus has up his ass are a mere formality. And he could fucking---he could push Diego’s thighs apart and slide right in but he could do much more too. He could take Diego apart. 

He could fuck him. God - he could fuck him. He could ---- let his fingers slip free so easy, he could palm both of Diego’s ass cheeks, could let his thumbs slip down, sink in and he could lose his breath at the sight of how _ open _ his brother is. Diego’s shaking all over, riding the mattress, the pile of blankets, pushing up toward Klaus, chasing where he’s fucking empty, fucking _ clenching _ . “You fuckin---” And Klaus is fucking _ stunned _ , fucking stupid and wild, for the exact shade of _ pink _ Diego is on the inside, the color of his tongue where it slides against his bottom lip (Klaus use to wear - he use to wear this lipstick, when he worked at the Doll House, called _ French Kiss - _ and it was this, it was _ this _ ). With both hands on Diego’s ass, Klaus lets his fingertips bite down, and his thumbs dig deep. When Diego makes a noise like he’s so fucking _ hurt _ , Klaus does the first thing that comes to mind and _ spits _. 

Right.

On Diego's asshole. 

The frantic roll of his hips turns sharp and fractured and Klaus watches his own spit drip down Diego's balls. And God. _ God _. 

He does it again, holding Diego apart - _ spreading _ him. It’s visceral and disgusting, the slow slide of Klaus spit where it catches on the faint dark hairs. He feels empty of anything except the slow way all the angry red in Diego bleeds soft and pink. Klaus is stained with the color; he’s blue and periwinkle and lilac and pink. He’s gone pastel for the feeling his _ brother _ put in him, and he’d be more upset about it but the black and white hew knew best had grown more grey in recent years and Klaus is an addict - for pastels and pink. Diego comes grinding against the bed the way a fire dies out, a drawn, hissing and spitting burn that remains hot even after it’s _ gone _. 

Klaus breathes, eyelashes fluttering and everything smells like sex, but he hasn’t even _ fucked him yet. _ “Up,” he says, dismounting the throne that is Diego’s fucking ass. When Diego doesn’t comply, Klaus swats his ass, and the ripple it sends entirely distracting. “Up, up. _ Now _.” Because he’ll drown in the moment if he doesn’t get out now. And he needs Diego to come with him. Diego does with all the weak-limbed struggle of drunk men and babies. And when he was at his feet, Klaus smiles. “Now put your face in it.” 

“You said _ you’d _put my face in it,” Diego argues- on principle perhaps, or because he's nervous. Klaus could see it in him, in the way he turned away, just a little bit. 

“I’m sorry, brother mine, are you accusing me of lying? Have I _ ever _ ?” He grins, and yeah, maybe that’s what Klaus said. But he suspects Diego isn’t the kind of Daddy Issues to need bossy, and he really couldn’t give a shit if Diego’s particularly obedient. No. “You’re gonna do it because you want to, Gogo.” And yeah, Klaus is pretty confident Diego will, but he still grabs him by the balls, very very gently. “You want too.” It’s easy to lead him closer, pull him in and Klaus won’t even kiss him, not yet. Not yet. “You _ can _. I'll let you.” 

And if it were anyone else crawling across the mattress, pretty little ass out and ripe like that, Klaus would _ spank _them. But this is Diego, so Klaus just waits, and watches, as Diego drags his face though the sticky mess he’s made. He’s kneeling at the edge of the mattress, ass in the air-----

Klaus really cannot be this lucky. 

“Now lick it up, Diego. Because you want too.”   
  
(but if it just happening like this, he might have to believe it). 

Diego does. 

Klaus gets on his knees, but it’s hard to feel his age in the ache of his bones when he’s spreading his _ shockingly _slutty brother open. He couldn’t say if Diego’s more or less imbalanced than Klaus is, by the nature of their childhood or the choices they made in the latter years, but his brashness, his boldness, had way more to do with his headstrong-nature than it had to do with bravery. Diego was a fool, a beautiful goddamn fool, and Klaus was fairly foolish for him. 

He feels stupidly overwhelmed in the moment, with both hands holding Diego open, the soft, pink wink of his asshole right there and Diego’s mouth open against his own spill of come. Klaus just---feels overwhelmed with how easy it was to get here, how easy it is to be here in the moment. He clears his throat and settles himself down. “You gonna cry for me, Gogo? _ God, _ I really hope you cry.” He drags the words across Diego’s ass, the scratch of his freshly trimmed beard leaving the skin pink and raw. “Fuck. _ Whatever _. It’s my birthday now.” 

“_ Klaus _.” 

“Tell me to do it,” Klaus laughs at the way Diego’s body coils, curling his spine like the corner of the page in a favorite book. Klaus just knows he’ll come back to this moment. “Tell me, Gogo. C’mon.” 

_ “Do it.” _

Ah, and it’s sweet, but Diego can do better. “Do _ what _,” Klaus presses, dragging his open mouth down Diego’s spread cheeks. 

“Klaus,” Diego chokes, the words muffled to nothing into the plush of his blanket. “_ Please _.” 

And it’s not what he asked, it’s not an answer, and Klaus can feel the _ disobedience _hot in his blood. It feels good. It feels like Diego should be rewarded. Every no is worth more than a thousand yeses, he thinks, where Diego is concerned. There’s something particularly vindicating to hear him refuse any order, and so Klaus just bites him, hard, right there, left ass cheek. “One day I’d really love to watch Benny eat your ass and come all over himself, but for now - on your back.” 

Klaus pushes at Diego’s hip until he’s flat against the mattress, and catches his arm before he can hide in the crook of his elbow. But Klaus wants to see him, see the come where it sticks, tacky, to his stubble. “Ah ah---” 

Diego is _ red _. 

And _ pink _. 

And Klaus is stupidly in love. 

And as he crawls up Diego’s body, drags his skin across skin he’s known since he knew anything at all, Klaus remembers with all his heart what loving Dave was like. And it’s not this - it’s not this at _ all _ . Falling in love with your brother is not like being in love with anyone at all. Diego hasn’t _ shown _ Klaus his scars - Klaus was _ there _ for most of them. And when a door slams and Diego flinches, Klaus won’t know because Diego told him. He’ll know because he flinches too. And he thinks, in a terrible little selfish shadow of his mind, that loving Diego is _ okay _ . Loving Diego like this is okay and it’s not an offense to Dave, it won't diminish the memory or the love. It’s Diego - and Klaus already loved him. And maybe Dave wouldn’t have wanted _ this _, Klaus thinks, as he comes to mouth along the hot, flushed curve of Diego’s throat, but...Daves dead. 

Klaus is _ never _going to love anyone the way he loved Dave. 

But he can say the same, with everything left in him----

He can say the same about Diego. 

  


This is----

Diego shudders and Klaus lets his palms slide dry up Diego’s arms until their fingers are tangled and pressed into the pillow and Diego’s a natural, body moving to make room, legs spreading, and coming to hook over Klaus's hips---

This is the brightest Klaus has ever felt. 

He _ kisses _ Diego as he pushes inside him, afraid that he might be crying. The sound Diego makes has a taste and Klaus' bottoms out as fast as Diego can pull him down, strong calves crossed at Klaus back. It shocks all the air from Klaus' lungs and he shakes, hand in hand with his brother, their foreheads pressed. “ _ Fuck _.” 

Diego’s eyes are already open when Klaus gets himself together and opens his own. His pupils are blown, and his mouth is wide, bottom lip bit and raw. Klaus rocks his hips and loses his mind. He’s fucking---

He’s fucking _ Diego _. 

He’s struck somehow strange, with the sense that this is wildly filthier than letting Ben hold him down at the Eldritch’s command and fuck him on a tentacle while riding his dick. This is---dirtier. This is rawer. This is sticky and strange, and Klaus blames the pink of his own feelings, but he’s balls deep in Number Two. 

Diego’s looking at him, and he looks so small, he looks so helpless, with his big brown eyes and his pink mouth open and his thighs---

His thighs spread wide, heels of his feet digging deep into the small of Klaus back---

_ Number Two. _

And Klaus means to say his name, he really fucking does. Diego. _ Not _ Number Two. But Gogo’s just---he’s looking at him, and he looks so vulnerable, he looks so goddamn _ soft, _ with his mouth open and his cheeks pink. He means to say, Diego, Gogo, something. “Christ,” he says, instead, pushing deeper, unwilling to let go. “I use to look at you as a big brother.” 

Diego sucks in a breath so sharp, Klaus feels cut on it, and he wants to take it back, but it’s _true_. Diego always seemed older, obedient and strong and mature. Headstrong. Stubborn. Good. He’d been born a stoic, sad thing, and he’d grown into it in all the ways a man does. Klaus use to look at him as a big brother, yeah - just wanted his attention, just wanted his time. And Klaus was born to be a gremlin, all mischief, and spite. He chokes, as Diego holds him tighter, fingers clenching as he curls his spine, and he wonders if Diego knew. _ I use to look at you as a big brother. _Klaus loses it, and crashes down, the pale stretch of his skin a white cap wave bursting against sun-warmed sand. “I still do.” 

  


He feels Diego’s stomach jump below his own and for a second Klaus thinks he’s trying to get away but he’s---he’s _ laughing _ . His body clenches, and twists and he surges up to kiss Klaus, but it’s lost to the laughter and Klaus---smiles, feeling stupid, balls deep in his fucking brother. “I just---” Diego smears the words across Klaus’ jaw. “I shouldn’t find that so goddamn _ hot _. Why do I find that so hot?”

And Klaus supposes that’s fair. Being Big Brother is a bit contradictory to getting off on Klaus calling himself Daddy. He’s not surprised it’s Diego who found a balance on the contrary, not at all. But then - he’s also pretty sure that’s not what Diego means. “Because you’re a filthy fucking slut, Gogo,” Klaus assures him, feeling even-footed and right in the words. “You make Benny call you Big Brother when you fuck him, don’t you?” 

And it’s fascinating - yeah it’s magic, to say those words and watch Diego just---crumble. His eyes roll back, just a little, and he licks at his bottom lip so helplessly, Klaus has to kiss him. They’re hardly fucking, they’re hard - they’re just sharing _ space _. “Benny---” Diego manages, chasing Klaus’ tongue. “We don’t make Benny do anything. He does what he wants.” 

And Klaus has to laugh at what - he has to. His body shakes, and he finds it easy to bury his face in the curve of Diego’s neck, set his teeth there and not bite, not yet. It’s easy to fuck him then - to move with the roll of his body and Diego is not still. Diego holds on, and his body curls and his thighs flex and he makes himself open, makes himself soft and taught all at once and Klaus never had anything more than an abstract concept of religion, until he fucked his brother. “Can you get hard again?” 

“You keep talkin’ about Benny like that, and yeah probably.” Probably, he says, like he’s not good for three or four. He can’t beat Klaus for stamina, but his refractory time is straight intimidating. He’s already starting to fatten up like the words alone are witchcraft, and maybe they are. Klaus certainly feels compelled. 

Klaus pushes up, on his knees, so he can pull Diego half into his lap and it’s---

Ben doesn’t like it like this, doesn’t like the helpless flay of his own body, belly up and exposed and Klaus respects that. Diego---

God- he looks good though, stretched out - miles of sun-warmed sandy skin, inked and scarred. Diego does not have the same reservations as Ben, however, and gets his elbows up underneath him so he can _ help _. 

Another hopeless sigh escapes Klaus. “You are really fucking hot, bud.” 

“Please don’t call me bud when you have your dick in me,” Diego groans, with his head, tilted back, half off the mattress. “Fuck--- Klaus. _ Don’t call me bud ever _.” 

Klaus pulls Diego further into his lap and spreads his legs farther and Diego moves so well, Klaus would suspect he’s done this before. He plants his feet against the mattress and braces himself hard against his elbows so Klaus can _ really _ fuck him. He looks--- sloppy. Slutty. Maybe a little bit _ beautiful _. Klaus has - well. He’s certainly come in worse places. 

He grinds into Diego, the sloppy, ragged way his brother likes and he should absolutely not know about. He bottoms out and holds it, rocking deeper, desperate and Diego fucking mewls, a broken terrible beautiful sound and his cock twitches where it lays against his tacky stomach and Klaus---

Does it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

It’s frantic in a way Klaus can’t quite remember and he realizes with clarity only open windows offer, that he’s not high. He’s high on nothing, nothing at all but the fire burning in his belly and the stupid glow across Diego’s skin. Klaus laughs, bright and wild and loses his mind for the toe-curling drag of his cock as he pulls out as far as Diego’s thighs will allow him and fucks himself right back in on a slow, digging grind. God - Diego’s _ ass _. It slaps into Klaus's hips like a rubber band snapping, and it’s so goddamn obscene, it’s----

Diego’s hard, Diego’s so goddamn hard. 

Klaus fucks him, rough, and deep and hard and _ slow _ , and when Diego tries to look away, Klaus grabs him by the mouth, sinks two pale fingers over his bottom teeth and _ shakes him. “ _ I fuckin---,” he has to shake him again when Diego’s lashes flutter close. “Wanna fucking watch you _ squirm _,” Klaus tells him on a shiver, through clenched teeth and on the tail end of a thrust that rattles Diego’s whole body. “You gonna let me?” 

Diego’s breathing hard when he nods, brown eyes wounded but bright, and Klaus isn’t expecting it when he sinks his teeth down. The shameless break of Klaus skin is violent and cruel, but the smear of red that spills across Diego’s mouth is _ everything _. Klaus digs his toes into the bed, desperate not to come, endurance well and truly fucked by the blood so sweet on Diego’s tongue. And as he drags his fingers free from the bite of Diego’s teeth, the color remains, a red wash love letter across his chin. 

Klaus doesn’t mind the sting where his skin stretches as he takes Diego in hand or the way the blood sticks tacky between his fingers. He comes crashing down to kiss his goddamn brother, and it tastes like their childhood, and it tastes _ right _. He fucks Diego up into the circle of his fist, feels Diego clench and flutter. He keeps his eyes open though, the furrow of his brow all injured fury like he’s offended to feel so good. 

He doesn’t come until after Klaus does, the flutter of Diego's body wracking sharp, crackling aftershocks of lighting through his body, and when he comes, it splashes across Diego’s face, turning all the red still wet there, pink. 

**Author's Note:**

> right in the feels. 
> 
> How many times do you think I said pink?
> 
> Hint?
> 
> it's twelve.


End file.
